


Blood Moon

by lordhellebore



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Background Character Death, Dark, Gore, Horcruxes, M/M, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Snupin Santa Fest, Violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-09
Updated: 2009-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordhellebore/pseuds/lordhellebore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a grim world ruled by the Dark Lord, Snape and Lupin spiral downwards into darkness. Losing themselves, each other is all they have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Moon

_From outside, it was impossible to make out anything that happened within the ancient stone circle. Even inside it, the pale starlight did not allow the eye of those gathered here in this night of the new moon to see their companions as anything but hooded shadows, made equal by the darkness and the powerful magic that concealed their identities from each other._

_Even so, they hid in the shadows of the huge monoliths, which were mossy with age and looming over them like silent guards. Only one among them seemed fearless, standing in the middle of the circle of humans and stones. When nobody new had appeared for a while, he raised his wand and, with a murmured incantation, completely sealed the circle against the outside world. The hushed murmurs around him quieted down almost immediately, all eyes turning towards him expectantly. There was an atmosphere of anxious anticipation, humming in the air not unlike the magic that protected them from curious eyes._

_He did not speak for long before the meeting ended again, each participant Apparating away hastily after their leader had lifted the magic that had enclosed them. No more than half an hour after the first person had arrived, the stone circle once again lay empty and silent._

.-.-.

Draco Malfoy was bored out of his mind. It was three in the afternoon, and he could think of nothing to do. It was still two hours until he could start on dinner – more like three if he was realistic about it. He’d finished all the necessary housework around noon, had read a book of which he was sure that he’d read it at least twice already during the last eighteen months, and now found himself at a loss, as every day around this time. He might mop the floors – he hadn’t done that in three days, so it wouldn’t be completely useless. Not like the week when he had cleaned all windows every day out of sheer desperation.

He put the book back on the shelf and listlessly wandered into the kitchen to get the mop and cleaning agent from the cupboard. It was ridiculous, he thought some minutes later, having finished about half of the kitchen floor, that he of all people should volunteer to do work which a year and a half ago he had never consciously thought about. And if he had, he would have been indignant at the suggestion of him doing any of it. The Malfoys had house-elves for such tasks, after all.

Now it seemed that _he_ had turned into some odd kind of house-elf, and he was sure that Spinner’s End had never looked this spick and span before. Certainly not when Severus had been living here alone – when Draco had first moved in, the dust bunnies seemed to have taken on a life of their own – and not when Severus’s mother had still been alive, either.

He knew a lot about Eileen by now; more than he cared to know, and surely more than Severus would want him to know. It was a safe assumption, considering that Severus had never talked about her, except for once mentioning that she had died over twenty years ago.

Severus would probably do some very unpleasant things to him if he were to ever find out, but Draco had no intention of letting him know. It was one thing to live in Severus’s house, to cook for him, clean for him – and even wash his underwear in the antediluvian monstrosity that had qualified as a Muggle washing machine in the sixties, once he had subdued the thing and discovered how to use it. It was another thing entirely to admit that he had read the diaries of Severus’s mother.

It wasn’t as though he had intended to do it. But half a year ago, he had finished with the admittedly extensive amount of books in Severus possession, except for the volumes about the most dark and dangerous spells and potions, which had been hexed so that nobody could read them without the aid of a wand. The wooden chest in the attic had been under no such protection, however, and once Draco had realised that the dust-covered notebooks inside contained the private thoughts of Eileen Snape, he had been too curious to lay them aside.

The lecture had been extremely educational, teaching him one thing above all: until the Dark Lord had executed them, Draco had been blessed with the ideal parents.

Gritting his teeth, Draco moved from the kitchen to the tiny corridor, swinging the mop so violently that he almost knocked over the hat stand in the corner next to the front door. He would not think of his parents. Not today. There would be enough of that at the next full moon, which was too close again already. It was absurd: on the one hand, time crept by incredibly slowly, driving him mad with boredom, while on the other hand, the time between the full moons never seemed to be long enough.

For the next half hour, Draco determinedly focussed on nothing but his mopping, until the floors of the small house were so clean that one could have eaten from them without any problems. Having finished with the floors, Draco decided to scrub the shabby little bathroom into a state as close to shininess as possible, after which it was finally late enough to start cooking. He didn’t like to admit it, but at this point of the day, he was looking forward to Severus coming home from his duties at the Dark Lord’s side, even if there usually would be little talking, and Severus would most likely be in a foul mood.

Draco hadn’t been wrong about that last point, and around seven in the evening, he was watching a surly-looking Severus shovel food into himself without so much as an appreciative word for Draco’s cooking. Not that he wasn’t used to it, but sometimes, he still thought that considering the fact that he hadn’t even been able to make a cup of tea when he had moved in, he’d learnt exceedingly well by now.

In the end, Severus laid aside the fork and knife, staring down at his empty plate with an expression he’d had reserved for Draco’s most pathetic cooking attempts in the very beginning of their cohabitation.

“We’re getting Lupin,” he announced abruptly.

“Lupin, here? But why?”

Severus looked up at him with an irritated frown. “Because it’s the Dark Lord’s order, why else? Or wait. Actually, he didn’t just tell me that I was to take Lupin with me after the next full moon. No, we sat down together and had tea and biscuits while he explained his reasoning to me in detail.”

Draco said nothing, but simply got up and started collecting the dishes. As he put them into the basin, Severus spoke again, this time much softer than before.

“He’s gone insane, that’s the reason.”

“The Dark Lord? I know that.” It would have been suicide to utter this sentiment anywhere outside, but the house was warded so heavily that not even their Lord and Master could have entered, or listened in on them in any way, without setting off an alarm first.

“Nonsense! I was talking about Lupin.”

Draco turned around to Severus, who suddenly looked much less annoyed and much more tired than he had only a few minutes ago.

“It seems that half a year of being used as an executioner has finally driven him insane. He’s still useful for killing when he’s a wolf, but the rest of the time…” Severus’s hand clenched around his cup of tea.

“The Dark Lord informed me that his prison guards have other things to do than taking care of a drooling madman, but that I have someone at my disposal who is not, actually, of any use to him as of now. Someone who should be grateful that he is still alive despite his parents’ attempted betrayal.”

Draco wanted to say something, but Severus cut him off with a shake of the head.

“Don’t even _think_ of it. Those were his exact words, and you know very well what that means.”

Without another word, Draco started filling the basin with water and washing the dishes. It meant that finally, after a year and a half of letting him rot here, the Dark Lord was reminding him that it would have been more than befitting to kill him alongside his traitorous parents – something he had not explicitly mentioned when sending him here. Back then, he had merely ordered him to take a few things, move in with Severus so that he would be under “proper supervision”, and to not move out of he house even one step. It was only fitting, he had added, that Severus should take care of Draco, since he seemed to feel some inexplicable kind of responsibility for the boy, even taking the disposal of Dumbledore upon himself when it had been a task clearly given to Draco, not him. Maybe he would succeed where Draco’s parents had obviously failed.

Of course, had he known about Severus what Draco knew by now, he would have thought differently about it.

.-.-.

The week until the night of the full moon went by far too quickly, and as always when he walked down the stairs to the cellar of Malfoy Manor, which the Dark Lord had seized after its owners had passed away, Draco felt anything but prepared.

In the beginning, he had foolishly hoped that after a while, he might be spared watching the monthly executions. The first few times, he didn’t remember how he’d gotten through them, or how they’d gotten home, only that he’d been still screaming and his clothes had been smeared with vomit as Severus had dragged him into the bathroom at Spinner’s End.

By now, he’d learnt to control himself better, but that didn’t make it any less horrible. It wouldn’t be so bad if they used the Killing Curse. Even hanging or beheading would be a relief. But the Dark Lord had had a better idea, an idea that was both, gruesome and brilliant.

Clenching his fists by his sides, Draco forced himself to look straight ahead. He knew better than thinking that he could close his eyes and merely listen. It was a requirement that everyone in the Dark Lord’s service watch the executions, and they had all learnt – some from very personal and painful experience – that he would know if anyone tried getting around it.

Of course, there were those few who did not mind, who even seemed to enjoy watching a screaming victim being torn to shreds by a werewolf. But most, as far as Draco knew, watched with a kind of terror akin to his own, well aware of the fact that they could be on the other side of the thick iron bars if they dared to make a wrong move. Any doubt of that had been vanished for good when the Malfoys had been thrown to the beasts in the cellar of their own house.

It was a woman this time. Small, plump, and with mouse-brown hair, she bore no resemblance to Narcissa Malfoy, but that didn’t matter. As soon as the werewolf attacked his shrieking victim, she turned into his mother before Draco’s eyes. He didn’t dare look away, but he’d started shaking, his fingernails digging bloody half-moons into his palms. As always, it was only Severus’s hand lying unobtrusively on his back that prevented him from screaming, and when it was finally over, he wouldn’t have made it home and to bed without help. He’d be ashamed of it tomorrow, but as long as it lasted, he was merely grateful. These were the only times that Severus let on that he actually cared at all.

The next day, Draco wandered around the house in a state of exhausted confusion. He was vaguely aware that something was supposed to happen today, but couldn’t quite remember what, precisely. Whenever he tried to concentrate, his thoughts soon slipped away to what seemed to be more pressing matters, like scrubbing all surfaces and, once again, the floors of the house.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco realised that it was absolutely unnecessary, but whenever it surfaced, that notion was swept away by the remembrance of puddles of blood on a stone floor, seen too often by now to ever completely forget.

It was early afternoon when Severus came home. At first, Draco didn’t hear him, being too immersed in his cleaning. There was a reddish-brown stain on the carpet in the living room that wouldn’t go away, no matter how much he scrubbed at it. Severus had probably even spoken to him to get his attention, but only when a hand settled on his shoulder and the floor cloth was taken away from him did he realise that he wasn’t alone any more.

“I’ve got Lupin with me,” Severus said flatly, pointing behind him at the couch.

Draco stared in confusion for some moments before remembering what he’d been told the evening before. Slowly, he got up from his knees and turned around.

.-.-.

“He needs another blanket. He’s cold.”

Draco looked up from his novel – one he’d only read once before – to see Severus completely immersed in his own Potions book. On the couch, Lupin sat silent and motionless, but when he touched the man, Draco could feel him shiver slightly.

It was strange, he thought, spreading a second, thicker blanket over him, how Severus sometimes simply knew certain things. He never seemed to pay attention to Lupin, hardly ever looked at or spoke about him – and yet, from time to time, he’d point out something that Draco had overlooked. Not in a manner that indicated any concern, but then, he never quite showed that he felt concerned for Draco either.

Having tucked the blanket firmly around Lupin, Draco sat back, but didn’t take up his book again. When Severus had brought Lupin four months ago, Draco wasn’t sure he would have recognised his former teacher if he hadn’t known who he was. While the Lupin he had known from school seven years ago had looked tired and careworn, he’d still looked very much alive. This man, though, didn’t look alive, and he didn’t behave like it either.

He had not quite known what to expect when Severus had told him that Lupin had gone insane, but had been relieved to find out that it was a quiet kind of insanity. Sometimes, he would rock, or mutter incomprehensibly under his breath, but most of the time, Lupin was merely curled into a corner of the couch, staring ahead with glassy eyes and not appearing to take in anything that was happening around him.

Draco was torn out of his musings by Severus announcing that he would go to bed. It was 11:30pm already, and it would be for the best if he and Lupin were to go to sleep as well.

In the beginning, he’d felt resentful about being burdened with the task of taking care of the man, but he had soon realised that it was pleasant to have someone around, even if that someone didn’t talk to you, or even heard what you told him. The last fact was, actually, a good thing. Draco would have felt it to be silly to keep a diary – and far too dangerous as well, considering others could find and read it – and it was out of the question to talk with Severus about certain things. He knew by now that Severus wasn’t as indifferent as he pretended to be, but that didn’t change the fact that it would be too awkward, too difficult. Talking to Lupin wasn’t difficult at all.

True, he thought as he prepared Lupin for sleep, there were the more annoying aspects to deal with, which wasn’t made easier by the fact that he had to do everything the Muggle way – but then, he’d gotten used to a life without the ability to perform magic since the Dark Lord had snapped his wand. This merely needed some getting used to as well.

“Getting used to it.” It didn’t seem such a bad motto in the end, especially when you had no other choice.

.-.-.

_“I have good news for our cause. Harry Potter is still alive.”_

_Hushed murmurs broke out in the group of hooded shapes once again assembled in the ancient stone circle under the cold light of the fading stars. Each voice was exactly alike, forced into conformity by the protective magic._

_“He was injured gravely in his last attack on us, but did not die as many assumed,” their leader went on. “My source of information has it that he has been in a deep coma ever since. But there are signs that he will recover soon. And as long as he is alive, even like this, there is still hope for us. You must remember that. Our situation is less desperate than it seemed, and we have to be grateful. And please,” he added, silencing the still ongoing whispers around him with a wave of his hand, “please remember to not talk about this with anyone! I know I have told you so countless times, but it is vital. Just one wrong word to the wrong person, and we all might be doomed. You all know how our Lord punishes those who conspire against him. Even if you’re certain that the person standing next to you right now is your wife, or your son, don’t speak to them once you have left this place. Our lives depend on it.”_

.-.-.

Since the Dark Lord had established his reign over Scotland and large parts of Northern England almost three years ago for good, Severus had always disliked the nights of the full moon.

He had never belonged to those who liked the thought of killing another human being, and too many deaths that the Dark Lord deemed necessary would have been a waste of life in his own eyes even if he had truly been loyal to his alleged master.

Still, he had to admit that it was an ingenious idea: using werewolves for executions – most of them sworn-in allies like Fenrir Greyback – was killing two birds with one stone. On the one hand, the prospect of being arrested and mauled by a werewolf was keeping the public in constant terror. Especially the Muggles, who had never conceived of such creatures existing outside of horror stories, were terrified, and after some initial and useless revolts, which had ended in public executions, most didn’t dare to misbehave even in the most insignificant fashion any more. On the other hand, granting the werewolves regular kills was providing the Dark Lord with a willing and ever-ready army that, even in human form, was ruthless and much stronger than any human enemy, be they Muggles or Wizards.

Severus had schooled himself to not betray his disagreement with the executions which he and every other Death Eater were forced to attend, although Draco’s extreme discomfort was adding to his disdain of the procedure. Now that Lupin was a part of it all, however, his aversion had taken on a new level.

He knew that it was useless to try and lie to himself: he’d always felt inexplicably attracted to Lupin. When he had noticed it first, shortly before leaving school as a young man, he’d been angry with himself. Falling for Lupin, of all people, was one of the stupidest things he could possibly have done. Lupin was anything but an appropriate choice, and Severus had already made a commitment to the Dark Lord – they were on different sides entirely, and there was no way to do anything about it.

He had told himself to forget it, and it had worked well throughout the war and his first years of teaching. Then Lupin had returned to Hogwarts. It might have worked, then – maybe. If only Severus had known how to behave, how to approach him in any different way than with hostility. And if Black hadn’t turned up and ruined everything. Later, during their work for the Order, there had been no time for such frivolities. And now...

He’d been grateful when he’d heard that Lupin had managed to make his way out of the area occupied by the Dark Lord before the borders to the southern part of the land had been closed by magic. When it had become clear that he had been captured in the failed attack on the Dark Lord that had been led by Potter half a year ago, he’d been shocked, but had known that there was nothing that he could do.

At first, he hadn’t even thought of the full implications. Only when, during the first night of the full moon after Lupin’s capture, he’d seen him wait in one of the execution cells, he had realised what this meant: the other man was not merely a normal captive, but one that could be used – and punished – in a special manner.

When it seemed that Lupin’s mind had finally broken under this particularly malicious kind of torture, Severus had been almost relieved. And while having Lupin home with him and having to see him like this every day wasn’t anywhere near easy, at least it ensured that he was properly taken care of. Severus had thought that he would be able to get used to the situation. He always managed to do so, in the end.

Then, he’d found out the truth.

.-.-.

Draco was awoken by the sound of someone yelling. The walls of the old, run down house were thin, the wallpapers and even plaster flaking off in some places. If one didn’t make too much noise, one usually could hear what was spoken in the next room if the other person didn’t whisper.

“...finally losing my patience!” Severus snapped in the room next to Draco’s. It was the bedroom that had once belonged to his parents, while Draco inhabited Severus’s old room. Since these were the only two rooms on the first floor, Lupin usually slept on the couch in the living room downstairs. After the nights of the full moon, though, Severus would choose the couch himself and make him sleep in his bed, which was more comfortable.

Draco sighed and pulled the blanket over his head. He had no idea what use Severus thought it would be to yell at Lupin. It wasn’t as though he could hear him, or even answer.

“...know very well what you are doing! Do you honestly believe I’m as naïve as everyone else?”

Severus was sounding furious, Draco thought, regretfully bidding farewell to the idea of another hour of sleep. Instead, he got up and padded over to the corner of the room, where, behind a strange-looking painting that showed what seemed to be an old, ruined mill, there was a hole in the wall. It wasn’t big; just large enough so that he could see some small part of the other room.

Severus was standing with his back turned to Draco, facing his own bed, on which Draco could make out Lupin’s limp form. Severus’s posture was tense, fists clenched tightly.

“I’ve let this go on for quite long enough,” he went on now. “I thought that you’d get tired of this charade by yourself, but apparently you’re more stubborn than I realised.”

Draco didn’t have the slightest idea what Severus was talking about. For a moment, he feared that the man was finally snapping as well. The pressure of being a spy in the Dark Lord’s ranks for years might have gotten too much in the end. And he had noticed Severus’s mood darkening continuously over the last few weeks.

“Are you really _this_ dense, Lupin?” With two steps, Severus was by Lupin’s side, seizing him by he shoulders and shaking him. “Have you forgotten that I can perform Legilimency? I _know_ you’re faking! I _know_ you’re not insane!”

By now, he was yelling at such a volume that Draco would have heard him from downstairs as well.

“Fuck, Lupin, talk to me!”

.-.-.

Nothing.

Severus stared at the impassive face in front of him in helpless frustration. He’d tried talking to him sensibly first. When it hadn’t helped, he’d tried to stay calm, but hadn’t succeeded. Yelling, however, hadn’t made any difference either. There simply was no getting to Lupin. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn that the other man had truly lost his mind.

He was ready to give up, then, ready to leave him be. If he wanted to rot inside his own self-pity, let him. But instead of turning away, and without intending to, Severus found himself trying a last, desperate means.

Lupin’s lips were soft and cool against his own, and for some seconds, the man stayed still under his kiss. Suddenly, though, and before he knew what was happening, he was lying on his back on the bed, his hands pinned over his head by Lupin, who was staring down at him with a wild, hungry expression. His eyes weren’t any clearer than they had been before, but this was a different madness, one that Severus recognised almost immediately.

“Lupin? Can you hear me?” he tried, but got no answer. Instead, the other man crushed his lips against Severus’s once more with a feral growl, grinding his body against the one lying beneath him.

Severus knew better than to resist. This wasn’t Lupin kissing him; it was what had still remained of the wolf after a night of untamed rage and killing. He hadn’t aimed at this, but he’d read about it – that sometimes, strong triggers such as sexual contact could provoke such a reaction so soon after the transformation back to human. The best thing to do would be to comply with everything that would happen, for although he was in a human body again, the wolf was still much stronger than Severus. If he wanted to, he could easily kill him with his bare hands.

Forcing himself to relax, Severus opened his lips to Lupin’s searching tongue. It was hot in his mouth, and not at all unpleasant, and within seconds, he found himself reciprocating. He’d been dreaming of this in the past, when they’d been teaching together, and later working together for the Order of the Phoenix.

The kiss ended as abruptly as it had started, Lupin lifting himself from Severus with a dissatisfied frown. He ran his fingers over Severus’s chest, the thick, black robes preventing him from touching the skin. Obviously displeased, he growled again, but before Severus could make a move to undress, he was already ripping at the robes. Within seconds, the fabric gave in, large tears appearing, buttons falling to the bed and the floor beside them.

Severus was naked in no time, followed by Lupin, who gave no more thought to his own nightshirt than he had to Severus’s clothing. Not sure what to expect, Severus kept still under Lupin’s touch as the other man started sniffing him from head to toe. It was alien, seeing him behave like a wild animal rather than a human, but also weirdly arousing. By the time Lupin turned his attention from Severus’s armpits to his groin, he was fully hard already and did not care at all any more about the other’s mental state.

Lupin took some deep breaths, his face tantalisingly close to Severus’s cock. For a moment, Severus was seized by the terrifying idea that Lupin might decide to maim him after all – and then there was a warm, wet sensation that made him whimper involuntarily. It was repeated, and Severus realised that Lupin was licking him, licking his balls in slow, non-too gentle motions that were just on the border between pleasurable and painful.

After a while, Lupin worked his way upward, and had he been in bed with a full human, Severus would have snapped at him to finally suck him instead of torturing him with those insane, teasing licks. As it was, he did his best to keep silent, although he couldn’t help an occasional sigh or whimper. He hadn’t been touched like this in far too long.

When the other man moved away from his groin, Severus was unable to hold back a groan of frustration – which quickly turned into something else entirely, though. For now Lupin began to lick and bite him all over – gently first, but soon in a more heated manner as he once again started rubbing their lower bodies together. Severus could feel that Lupin was just as hard as him, and after only a short while of this, he couldn’t care about being careful any more. Instead of clutching the sheets beside him, his hands were suddenly clinging to Lupin, and he was kissing and nipping at the other man’s skin in turn. Lupin, too, was now making sounds of pleasure, growls and grunts that only added to Severus’s arousal, Lupin’s hot breath ghosting over his nipples, neck, and then his ear, making him shiver.

“Hell, Lupin, will you just _do_ it!”

Severus didn’t know if he had actually been understood, but there was an answering growl, then a sharp pain as Lupin bit down hard on his shoulder – and another, worse pain as he was entered without any preparation. Severus had expected this, but it still overwhelmed him, and for a few seconds, he froze against Lupin, desperately clawing at the other man’s back.

Thankfully, Lupin seemed to understand, and he didn’t move immediately. For a short while, they both lay still, flushed bodies pressed against each other. It was an oddly calm and gentle feeling, and Severus wouldn’t have minded if it had lasted. But now Lupin started thrusting, and although he was slower and more careful than Severus would have thought, it still hurt, and he tried thinking about other things: Lupin’s warm, hairy skin on his own, his lips and tongue gliding over Severus’s neck and shoulders, his arms holding Severus close.

Slowly, bit by bit, the pain abated between touches and kisses and the rocking of their bodies, and when they both came within instants of each other, it was almost forgotten, at least for the moment.

Severus was panting heavily, Lupin lying limply half next to and half on top of him. A minute passed, then another one, and just when Severus decided to move, he noticed that the other man was shaking. He’d been expecting anything: that Lupin would get angry, that he might try to escape into his faked insanity again – but not this. Not crying.

It was awkward; both of them were sweaty and naked, Severus’s come sticky between their bellies. But Severus’s arms were still around Lupin, and so he simply tightened his hold again, waiting. The tears were warm on his skin, Lupin’s face pressed tightly against Severus’s shoulder, and he stayed like that long after the last tears had dried.

“Why, Severus?” He sounded tired and miserable when he finally spoke, his voice no more than a dull murmur. “Why couldn’t you just leave me be?”

Slowly, Severus let go and slipped away from under Lupin, sitting up on the bed next to him. Any feelings of intimacy he might have had were gone all of a sudden.

“Because it’s pathetic,” he replied coldly. “It’s pathetic how you try to hide just because you can’t stand –”

“I can’t stand what?” Now Lupin had sat up as well, wiping at his eyes with a trembling hand. “The killing? The fact that I keep murdering innocents and can’t do anything about it?”

“No.” Severus shook his head. “That, I understand perfectly. What I don’t understand is how you can simply wallow in self-pity while you could do something useful instead. Do you think I’m happy about what I have to do? What he does with the potions I have to brew for him? But you don’t see me sitting around and trying to wish it all away. And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about – you know I’m not on his side; Draco and I spoke about it often enough in your presence.”

Lupin sighed, lowering his gaze to the sheets.

“You do know what happens to werewolves once they start killing, don’t you? With each time, each murder...”

He shuddered, then pulled the blanket over his naked body. Had Severus honestly thought about how powerful and strong Lupin looked only minutes ago? Now, he only looked frail, and frighteningly old.

“I’m scared. Scared that I’ll end up like Greyback, like the others. You know I'm not completely turned yet, but now it _will_ happen, no matter whether or not I want it. I didn’t want to notice, to have to feel it. I might even have succeeded, if only you –”

“You’re a coward!”

Severus got up from the bed and stiffly walked over to the window, which was hexed so that nobody could look inside. Something warm was running down his leg. He supposed that it must be blood – now he was hurting terribly again – but he didn’t look. He knew what Lupin was talking about; he could even understand him. But it didn't change his sudden loathing.

“You want the Dark Lord to be defeated, and you can just muster enough courage to attack and maybe die. But as soon as it gets truly difficult, as soon as it looks like you might actually suffer, or even have to let them taint you, you’re nothing but a bloody coward.”

“I don’t –” Lupin started, but Severus cut him off with an angry turn of the head.

“Don’t you think it would have been easier for me to just walk away from this? I could have stayed with Potter and proven my loyalty to him. I didn’t have to stay here and watch all of this, and even pretend to help! I didn’t have to kill Dumbledore when he asked me to! But it was necessary.”

He turned to the dark, wooden wardrobe and opened it, getting out a nightshirt for himself.

“That’s the difference between us, Lupin. I can do what’s necessary. And until you learn that, you will be completely useless.”

When Severus looked back at Lupin, the other man seemed to have slumped even more. He was looking sick and miserable, and for a second, Severus wished he hadn’t been so harsh, that he had been able to show not only his anger, but also the sympathy that was lurking underneath. But the moment passed, and he turned away again.

“I’m going to shower, and then I’ll sleep on the couch. You should sleep as well. If you need anything, Draco should be up soon.”

There was no answer, and he left the room without looking back.

.-.-.

It was in the early afternoon when Remus entered the small kitchen. Severus had apparently gone out; he hadn’t come back to his room, nor had he been in the living room, where only a rumpled blanket on the couch reminded of him having been there.

Draco was doing the dishes, his back turned to the door. He didn’t seem to have noticed him yet, or maybe he simply chose to ignore him. Remus stopped closely behind the door, not quite knowing what to do or say. Finally, when it was clear that Draco wouldn’t make any move to acknowledge his presence, he took heart.

“Draco, I’m very sorry –”

“Don’t,” he was cut off, the younger man’s hands stilling in the dishwater.

“But –”

“No! I don’t want to hear it. I don't blame you,” he went on more softly. “I tried to be angry when Severus told me – about how you made me play your nurse for nothing, but I couldn't, not really. I couldn’t even kill one person. If I were in your place...I don’t know what I’d do. Maybe I would have tried the same.”

Draco took the dishtowel, starting to dry his hands with slow, deliberate motions.

“Going mad doesn’t seem to be such a bad idea sometimes.” Finally, he turned to Remus, who was surprised to see how pale the young man was. Draco was wearing a confused expression now, rubbing his forehead absently. “I...I need to mop the floors now.”

He went to the cupboard to get the mop, but Remus stepped into his path.

“You only did that yesterday.”

“Let me...” Draco looked even more confused now, making a move to get around Remus. “I have to clean up. It's all terribly messy.” He was sounding nervous, almost anxious.

“Draco.” Remus put his hand on the younger man's shoulder to stop him. “Draco, look at the floor. It's perfectly clean.” He was speaking softly, taking another step closer. “Please, look.”

There was silence for a few moments, Draco staring down at the spotless black and white tiling of the kitchen floor. Then, without a sound, he crumbled. It wasn't dramatic – he simply seemed to shrink into himself before Remus's eyes, and suddenly, he was acutely aware that Draco was only twenty yet. He looked very young and vulnerable, and for a second, Remus was convinced that he was bound to break down in front of him.

But he did not; he merely stayed still for a while, Remus's hand on his shoulder. Then, taking some deep, controlled breaths, he straightened himself.

“I'm going to make us some tea.”

“You don't have to –” Remus started, but then thought better about it. “All right.”

Slowly, he took his hand away, instead sitting down at the kitchen table, waiting.

They drank their first few sips of hot tea in a silence of which Remus couldn't quite figure out if it was embarrassed or companionable.

“Just...don’t tell Severus, will you. About what I told you when I thought you were...about my parents.”

“I won't.”

“Good. It's not that I don't trust him, just...it would be too awkward.” Draco smiled weakly. “It's awkward with you too. I never thought you'd actually hear it, I just wanted to tell it.”

“If you ever want to talk about it...”

“No. I don't even want to think about it. It's over.”

It was anything but over, and they all knew it. Even Severus must have noticed.

“Severus should have talked to you, at the very least, instead of just leaving you to yourself here every day.”

“You're doing him injustice, you know.” Draco poured himself another cup of tea. “He's got enough to do without trying to psychoanalyse me. The Dark Lord keeps him occupied almost all day long. He trusts him and tells him more about his plans than most others. I don't envy him. He's brewed potions for purposes you don't want to imagine. I don't know much, just what he mentions by the way every now and then, but it's enough to prevent me from asking more. And the executions...” There was a pause as he tried to collect himself, his hands tightening around his cup. “He pretends that he doesn't care, but I'm not blind. He hates them, too. Especially since you are here.”

Remus looked up from his near-empty cup in surprise, but didn't say anything.

“Severus is...tired. He's had to keep up pretences for over three years, ever since he killed Dumbledore for me. I didn't even know killing tore apart your soul – I read it in one of his books. He never told me. So...” Draco looked up as well, holding Remus's gaze. “I think he's done quite enough for me. You don't have a right to be too hard on him.”

There was another silence before Draco spoke again.

“So...what does this mean for you? Severus only said something about 'fully turning' and it wasn't any of my business to ask him.”

Remus hesitated; he didn't want to talk about it. Even earlier, with Severus, it had been almost too much. But he owed Draco some kind of explanation, if nothing else.

“It means that I'm finally turning into a full werewolf. I wasn't before, not completely.”

Draco looked confused. “But how...I mean, you do change every full moon? What more is there?”

“A lot more.” Remus sighed. “I wish it was only about one night a month. It hurts, and it's horrible without the Wolfsbane, but you can live with it. I managed to for over thirty years.”

His mouth felt too dry to go on, but he didn't refill his empty cup.

“Werewolves aren't called Dark Creatures for nothing. You turn into a beast once a month, but you're still human the rest of the time; you're still yourself. Until you start killing.” The thought of killing alone evoked feelings in him he would rather forget, had tried to forget when he'd pretended madness. “For a werewolf, it's addictive. Once you have started, you don't want to stop. You want to do it again, and again. You'll like it.”

“Do _you_ like it?” Draco blurted out incredulously. Moments later, he flushed bright red, looking down at his hands. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't...”

“I...I'm starting to,” Remus whispered after a while. The words felt like shards of glass on his tongue. “I'm starting to like it, and I'm almost looking forward to the next full moon. I still hate it too, and I feel guilty, but not for long any more. It's different for everyone, but give me a few more months, a year at the very most...and I won't be the man you got to know at school, or the man I still am now. I'll be truly a Dark Creature, I'll be evil, and I won't care.”

Remus reached for the teapot, but dropped it, hot tea running over his hands and legs. He hissed with pain, but didn't move.

“I wish I'd gone insane. I wish I'd died in the attack. I wish I weren't too cowardly to take my life.”

Draco's answer consisted in getting a cloth and mopping up the tea. There was nothing to say.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

In the evening, Draco had gone to bead early. Severus had come shortly before dinner, talking sparsely to Draco, and not at all to Remus. Now the two men were sitting in the living room, both of them reading in the dusty yellow light of the old-fashioned standard lamp.

After a while, Remus put his book down, looking over to Severus instead. The other man's face was hidden in shadows, which accentuated the sharp line of his nose and dark circles under his eyes. Draco was right, Remus had to admit – Severus was looking more than a little tired. And it wasn't the kind of tiredness that would wear off after a good night's sleep.

He kept struggling with himself for a while, but there was no denying that Severus had a point. Remus was here, he wouldn't be able to change anything about it, and he would have to make the best of the situation as long as it lasted.

“What should I do?”

Severus put down his book in his lap. “What do you mean?”

“You said I could at least do something useful while I was here instead of wallowing in self-pity. What is there that I can do?”

Leaning back in his armchair, Severus closed his eyes. There was a strange expression on his face, as though he were struggling with himself, with what to answer, and Remus half expected him to tell him the same that Draco had told him earlier today.

“Take care of Draco for me,” Severus replied in the end. “There are...things that he needs that I can't give him. I'm not...” he trailed off, rubbing his hand over his eyes with an exhausted sigh before he got up abruptly. “I'm going to bed.”

That night, Remus lay awake for a long time, thinking about what Severus had not said.

.-.-.

The time until the next full moon went by in an odd state of truce. Remus had expected that he would be ordered to return to the prison cell he'd been kept in before, but somehow, Severus seemed to have convinced Voldemort that it would be better for him to stay were he was.

He spent his days with reading and trying to distract Draco as well as himself from the advancing full moon. Most of the days, he succeeded, managing to talk him into one or several games of chess, or having conversations on rather innocuous topics like books, or magical theory. Sometimes, though, Draco wouldn't comply, and those were the days that Remus hated most – watching the younger man obsessively clean away inexistent dirt was bad enough, but having nothing to prevent him from thinking about his own predicament was worse.

During all of this, he never spoke more than a dozen words a day with Severus. It wasn't that he was unwilling to talk to him – he still felt somewhat resentful, but that was fading quickly. No, it was because Severus didn't seem to have any interest in making conversation. He came home, ate, read, and then went to bed, and Remus couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something more wrong than what Draco suspected. But he wouldn't know unless Severus told either of them, and until then – if it should ever happen – there was nothing he could do.

Finally, the full moon arrived, and when the three of them Flooed to Malfoy Manor shortly before nightfall, Remus felt torn between conflicting feelings of dread and anticipation. The dread was stronger still, but for how long? How many months until it would have vanished completely?

Having arrived, he barely noticed his surroundings; only when the first victim was pushed into the execution cell did he startle from his thoughts. It was a man no older than Draco, his ashen face frozen in a mask of complete terror. Remus wished that there were something he could say – that he didn't want this, that he was sorry – but it seemed useless, and he stayed silent.

When the transformation began, it was like an electric shock running through him, making him first freeze, then jerk. He felt his bones shift and break as the world blurred around him, the young man's terrified shrieks mingling with his own screams of pain. And then his rational mind was gone, banished into the furthest corner of his head while the wolf was in control, raging, howling.

When he later tried to think about it, he could never tell when exactly it had happened, but until this night, he had always felt like a helpless watcher, forced to witness how his body committed murders he despised. This night, though, was different. This night, he did not watch the wolf, he was the wolf, and while he first registered this fact with a vague kind of horror, it soon was swept away by overwhelming fury and the lust to kill – and after the first taste of blood, nothing else mattered, and he remembered no more.

When Remus came to again, he was naked and shaking, clinging to Severus, who was holding him tight to prevent him from keeling over.

“Hold on,” Severus murmured. “I’m going to Apparate us home.”

Remus obeyed, the cellar around them vanishing, being replaced by the shabby but by now familiar bedroom at Spinner's End. Severus carefully led Remus to the bed, making him sit, and it was then that it happened. Severus's face was near his own, and without thinking, Remus leaned forward and kissed him.

Severus tensed for a moment, but then responded, his grip on Remus's body tightening. Suddenly, Remus was acutely aware of his own nakedness, and of his fervent wish that Severus, too, might shed his clothes. Like earlier this night, his thoughts blurred as their kisses grew more heated, and then he was the wolf once again – in human form this time, but the wolf nonetheless, sniffing, growling, and taking Severus in the end, who was as pleasantly submissive as he had been the time before. As he should be.

.-.-.

_“Our numbers have grown even further, I see.”_

_There were almost twice as many people in the small stone circle as there had been at their last meeting some months ago, forced to huddle together due to the limited space._

_“Things are looking up even more – Harry Potter is finally recovering, if I am to trust my source. They say that in only a few months, maybe no more than half a year, he might be ready to strike again. And this time, he will be better prepared, and more: this time, he will have an army on his side that the Dark Lord has no idea exists. We will have the force of surprise on our side.”_

_Their leader looked around in the circle, as if to explicitly include everyone in his next words._

_“If he wins, it will be greatly due to your contribution. You, who had the courage to betray the Dark Lord for what you believe to be right. You should be proud of yourselves, and once this is over, I am sure your families will be as well.”_

.-.-.

“Severus?”

Remus had been awoken by noises in the kitchen, and now he was standing in the doorway, watching Severus prepare a pot of tea. Three more months had passed, and while Severus had been looking tired back then, now he seemed to be withering before his very eyes.

The other man raised his gaze from the teapot, staring at Remus frowning and bleary-eyed for some moments before focussing on the teabags again. If this was a sign that was supposed to mean to leave him alone, Remus chose to ignore it. Instead, he got two cups out of the cupboard and put them on the table.

“Let me do that.”

Severus didn't resist as he took away the teapot and filled it with hot water from the kettle, but sat down and watched Remus in silence. When the tea was ready, Remus poured a cup for each of them, then sat down next to Severus.

“We need to talk.”

He didn't think it would work, not after Severus had avoided any kind of conversation for so long despite sleeping with him after each night of the full moon for four months, but to his surprise, the other man agreed.

“I know.”

Severus raised his cup to his mouth, but put it down again without drinking.

“We're both doomed,” he said after a while, and there was a finality to his words that made Remus shiver involuntarily. “I've seen it in you; it won't be long until you'll have fully turned. It's in your eyes, in how you move and speak. You needn't try to hide it.”

Severus was right, but that wasn't the worst thing.

“The worst thing is that I don't really care.”

He had believed that the more he would change, the more he would suffer; that he would notice and hate what was happening to him. Instead, he felt almost entirely indifferent about it, and only sometimes the old feelings of regret and guilt that had been torturing him in the beginning still surfaced.

“I tried to feel sorry for them last time. That they would die, that they'd suffer although they had done nothing wrong.” Absurdly, Remus wished that he could sound upset or sad, that there were any sign to show that he cared. “I couldn't. All I could think of was how it would feel to kill them. And that they really didn't matter all that much. The world will go on without them just as well.”

There was still a tiny part of him that knew how preposterous his words were, something that hoped Severus would be indignant and contradict, but Severus did no such thing. He only nodded weakly, his gaze glued to the cup in his hands.

“I envy you,” he finally murmured.

Remus couldn't make himself pity his victims any more, but there was sympathy for Severus. The other man didn't react at first when Remus's hand slipped over his own, but after some time, he closed his eyes with a sigh.

“I didn't count how many they were,” he finally went on, “but I'm sure I could have made dozens of Horcruxes if I had wanted to. _Like butter spread over too much bread_ – I don't remember who wrote it, but that's how I feel. And I'm asking myself how much of your soul has to be gone before you finally stop caring – and how long it will take for me to arrive there.” His fist clenched tightly under Remus's hand. “I hope not too long any more.”

Severus shook his head, covering his eyes with his free hand, which was shaking slightly.

“There have been no news on Potter at all. He could still be in that damn comatose state, or he could have died already, and we'd never know. My informant hasn't made contact in far too long. And it doesn't really matter any more, at least for you and me. If he recovers and somehow manages to win, I doubt he'll be quick enough.”

He looked up, and while Remus was unable any more to feel the despair he now saw in Severus's eyes, he remembered the feeling.

“It's too late for you already, and I...give me another month or two, just a few more murders, and it will be for me as well.” Severus smiled, a terrible, twisted smirk that deformed his non-too handsome features even more. “If he's dead, well...then we could almost count ourselves lucky. At least we won't belong to those who're unable to live under the Dark Lord's rule.”

Suddenly, he got up abruptly, making his chair fall over with a loud clatter. He was at the next wall before Remus could react, slamming his hand into it with full force, but without making any sound of pain.

“It's absurd!” he snapped, and while he tried to sound angry, Remus could hear how close he must be to crying. “I didn't do all this just to give up in the end! I killed Albus and all those others because I thought it was necessary, because I thought I could achieve something good by it! And now it doesn't matter at all! I'll be nothing but another brainwashed Death Eater; I'll be his perfect servant, just because I won't be able to care any more about anything I tried to fight for! Give me one reason why I shouldn't off myself right now, just to spare us all the misery.”

“Severus.”

Remus had gotten up as well and was now standing behind the other man. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around him, and while Severus resisted at first, it didn't take much strength to make him give in and slump against him. Carding his fingers through limp, black hair, Remus waited until Severus had calmed down a little.

“I know it's terrible,” he then whispered softly. “I know the idea is unbearable. But you'll survive it; I did as well. It's not as bad as it seems, you'll see. You'll feel better once it is over.”

It was the wrong thing to say, he knew. He should encourage Severus to resist, to hold on to what was left of his fighting spirit. But it was not what he wanted, and he had found out that by now, all that really counted was to get exactly that. What he wanted, he realised as he tightened his hold, Severus's trembling, haggard form pressed close to himself, was Severus. He was pleasant to touch, good to talk to if it happened, and even strangely attractive in his own way. But Remus wouldn't fully have him until Severus would give up the fight.

“That's not very comforting,” Severus mumbled into Remus's chest, but it didn't sound defiant, only exhausted and unhappy.

Remus took half a step backward and made Severus raise his head. Then, gently, he lowered his lips onto Severus's, who returned the kiss with a sound that was a mixture between a moan and a whimper.

“Then let me comfort you.” Remus found that although his main intention was to make Severus comply, the sentiment was genuine. He did feel for Severus, more than just sexual attraction. He hadn't thought it to be possible that this new person he had turned into could harbour such affection, but it was a pleasant surprise.

“Let me help you through it.” Again, he kissed the other man, nipping softly at his thin lower lip. “We can't change things for ourselves any more, but if Harry is still alive and planning something, we can wait. We don't have to care for his cause to help him. And once Voldemort is gone, we can leave as well. They wouldn't want us, not like we will be, but that doesn't really matter, does it?”

Severus shook his head, leaning in for another kiss. “No,” he whispered afterwards. “No, it doesn't, as long...”

He was pressing closer to Remus now, squirming slightly against him, his hands clinging tightly to Remus's robes, eyes closed, pale cheeks flushed weakly.

Remus smiled, then he kissed Severus again, longer and more passionately than before. They made it to the living room before taking off their clothes completely, and this time it was Remus sleeping with Severus, not the wolf.

.-.-.

Severus sighed with pleasure as Remus caressed his naked skin, touching him everywhere in a manner that was very different, yet also similar to what his wolfish part had done. There was no sniffing this time, no licking and no biting; Remus was considerate, but also firm, and in the end, Severus found himself being held down and taken as well, but slowly, gently, without the pain that had been involved the previous times.

Finally, they were lying still on the couch together, Remus's arms wrapped tightly around him, and while he was still feeling as raw and hopeless as before, it did not seem to matter just as much. There was no use to despairing, he thought tiredly, listening to the other man's deep, soothing breaths. Whatever would come, he would have to resign himself to it and do what was necessary. It didn't matter how he felt about it. It had never really mattered, after all.

At least, he thought before he drifted to sleep, at least he did not have to do it alone any more.

.-.-.

Three more months had passed, and there had been no word from Harry. Remus no longer slept on the couch, but in Severus's bed, and almost every evening, they would sleep with each other. It was the same most times, Remus dominating the encounter, guiding them to a climax that would leave him pleased and content, but more importantly, that would help Severus forget about his struggles for the night. It was more than just sex, but he wouldn't call it making love. Severus might feel differently, though, and Remus had no intention to contradict him, should he ever voice his feelings on the matter.

Remus was in the kitchen, preparing lunch together with Draco. He was peeling potatoes when there were noises in the corridor, and then Severus appeared in the doorway, looking pale and shaken.

“Severus?” Putting away the peeler, Remus got up and approached the other man. Severus didn't resist when he was led to a chair, but slumped down on it silently, putting his face into his hands.

Draco, too, had stopped chopping vegetables, and had gotten a glass of water. Severus, though, ignored it, just as he did not seem to notice Remus's hand on his back.

“A conspiracy,” he finally murmured flatly. “There was a conspiracy against the Dark Lord. Almost thirty Death Eaters who were discontent. They wanted to undermine our ranks from within, help Potter once he'd make another attempt at attacking. They met every few months at the new moon. Nobody who was loyal, or perceived as loyal, had the slightest idea.”

He took one of his hands away from his face and curled it around the glass of water, but didn't drink.

“They were all arrested today.”

“But how? If nobody knew -”

“Oh but he did,” Severus interrupted Draco. “The Dark Lord knew, because it was his idea all along. He was their leader. He gathered them, fed them with hope that they might stand a chance, urged them to look for others who might think alike. It was a perfect plan. Now he'll get rid of the malcontents all at once.”

“Get rid of them?” Draco sounded horrified. “You can't mean -”

“Yes!” There was an ugly cracking sound as the glass shattered in Severus's hand, blood beginning to run down between his fingers. He showed no sign that he even noticed. “Thirty Death Eaters, all their families, and at least a hundred Muggle conspirators they had managed to convince to help. There will be a mass execution tonight.”

“It's not the night of the full moon,” Remus argued, but Severus brushed it away with a wave of his injured hand. Red droplets landed on the peeled potatoes in the pot in front of him.

“It doesn't matter. The Dark Lord wants to make an example of them. Everyone will see that he'll make short work of traitors. I can't imagine anyone will try anything after that for a long time.” He drew a deep breath, like someone who had to steel himself. “He wants me there. He wants me to be the head executioner.”

For a while, nobody said anything. Then Remus took away his hand from Severus's back, instead gently touching his arm. “Let me take care of your hand before you go.”

Severus looked down at the hand in surprise – it seemed that he had indeed not noticed.

Remus sent Draco to the bathroom for tweezers, bandages, and a magical ointment that would speed up the healing process, and ten minutes later, a neat white bandage was adorning Severus’s left hand.

“I have to go.” He got up and approached the door, but stopped in the doorway, his back turned towards them.

“The Dark Lord sent me home to ask you if you wish to participate.”

The offer was tempting, and Remus almost would have accepted. But there was something in Severus's voice that made him reconsider.

“No, I don't want to.” And then, before he could hold back: “Not yet.”

Severus winced, then turned around to look at him with an unreadable expression. He nodded slowly. “Not yet.”

.-.-.

That night, Remus stayed up until Severus returned in the early morning hours. He had sent Draco to bed at some point after midnight, but he did not want Severus to be alone when he came.

When Severus finally did come, he seemed to be little more than a walking corpse. He stumbled into the living room on unsteady feet, and had Remus not jumped up and put his arms around him, he was sure Severus would have fallen.

“Severus!”

The other man looked up at him and opened his mouth as if wanting to speak, but all that came out was an inarticulate sound of exhaustion and terror. He was shaking, his face sunken and of a sickly, grey colour.

After only an instant of hesitation, Remus had swept him up in his arms and was carrying him upstairs. He had known that this would put a heavy strain on Severus, but he had underestimated just how close he must have been to breaking. Now, however, it seemed that he had crossed that line.

After Remus had put him to bed, Severus fell sleep almost immediately, but he would not stop shaking in Remus's hold for a long time.

During the next two days, Severus would go where he was led, eat when presented with food, and sleep when made to lie down. He didn't speak, and he didn't react to them touching or talking to him. Remus never left his side for more than five minutes. Most of the time, they would sit on the worn couch, Severus wrapped into a blanket. A few times, he looked as though he were trying to talk, but then only moved his mouth mutely for a while before falling still again.

On the morning of the third day, Remus awoke from the feeling of having nobody next to him. When he looked around, he saw that Severus was standing at the window, looking out into the grey neighbourhood. He got up and stood behind him, putting one hand on the other man's shoulder.

“Are you better?”

“Much better.” He sounded calm, but at the same time, the hollow exhaustion that had been underlining his voice during the last days and weeks had intensified greatly. “I think I'll be much harder to upset from now on.”

Remus smiled, making Severus turn around.

“Good. I've been waiting for this.”

“I know. It made me resent you.”

“And do you resent me still?”

Severus shook his head. “I tried to, but...I can't seem to care much about anything, really.”

Remus smiled again. “It's not so bad, is it?” He raised his hand, slowly running his fingers over Severus's cheek, then his neck and side, until he reached his ass.

“No.” Severus stepped closer. “It's like a stone had fallen off my chest.”

“Told you,” Remus murmured before he kissed him, and for the next hour, there were more important things to do than talk.

Later, they were lying in bed again, Severus pressed tightly against Remus's warm body. Remus was stroking Severus's hair lazily, feeling pleased with himself and the world. Things had gone exactly as he had wished they would.

“I think,” he whispered softly into Severus ear, “I think it’s time for me to pay the Dark Lord a visit.”

.-.-.

It was the night of the full moon four months later. Severus was standing in front of an execution cell with several others. They were watching Remus, who was looking great in Severus's opinion – no comparison to the tired, thin man who had lain on his couch limply for months. Remus had gained weight; he looked strong and energetic as he was pacing the cell restlessly, every few moments baring his teeth and clenching his fists in an impatient manner.

When the victim was thrown into the cell, Severus could barely spare him a look. It was hard to imagine that he had abhorred the procedure so much only recently. Of course, he still knew that it was a waste – the poor wretch could certainly be spared without any damage done to the Dark Lord's cause – but he found it rather pointless to care and burden himself with it. It was much easier this way.

Everything seemed to be somewhat easier these days, and he was grateful for it. There were still times when he would lie awake at night, watching Remus sleep and feeling an odd kind of regret. He hadn't wanted it to happen like this, and he had the vague feeling that the two of them had been deprived of something that could have been. But that, too, was a waste of energies in the end, and most of the time, he felt terribly tired. He just couldn't afford brooding over it.

Severus focussed on the cell again, where Remus had just finished his transformation. He was looking even stronger in his wolfish form; a magnificent beast with shiny grey fur and long fangs, which were bared in a feral snarl.

The elderly man he was supposed to put to death was mumbling incomprehensibly under his breath, staring wide-eyed at the creature in front of him. The wolf circled him slowly for a while, growling and salivating, before suddenly, he jumped and attacked, his fangs sinking deeply into his victim's throat. Blood gushed over his snout and face, colouring his fur darkly.

It was over quickly – too quickly for the wolf, apparently, who threw back his head and howled in anger and frustration. But there had been only three executions this night, and this was all he would get. Severus knew who would make up for it, and he couldn't say that he was displeased about it. Hardly anything could make him feel passionately these days, but sleeping with Remus, especially after the night of the full moon, always seemed to revive him at least a little.

In the early morning, he had brought Draco home and now returned to get Remus after his transformation. He watched the other man change, and, differently from how it had been before, Remus needed hardly any assistance to get to his feet and keep standing. He seemed better in tune with his wolfish part now, be it in his human or animal body – the changes were smoother, less painful, less exhausting.

Severus raised his wand to clean the blood away that was still covering Remus's face and parts of his body, but the other man caught his arm in a firm grip. Severus frowned in confusion, trying to free himself, but Remus wouldn't let go. Instead, he took a step forward, bringing his face close to Severus's. Severus tried to draw back in vain, being pulled only closer.

“Severus.”

It was a soft murmur, but with an undertone he knew perfectly. There was no contradicting, at least not for long. The other man cupped his cheek, making him look into his eyes. They were no longer brown, but of a permanent amber colour now, flickering in the light of the torches on the walls.

“Does it really matter?” His thumb ghosted over Severus's skin, his other hand letting go of his arm and instead wrapping around Severus's waist. “For me, Severus. You do love me, don't you?”

They had never used these words, and now they made his breath catch for a moment. Remus pressed his lips on Severus's forehead, then his temple, his cheek, his neck.

“Yes.”

Remus smiled at the whispered admission, going on to place kisses all over Severus's face, except for his mouth. He was caressing Severus's buttocks now, his other hand holding him close to his naked body.

“Remus, please...”

“Please what?” Another kiss on his neck, and a sharp, delicious prick of pain as Remus nipped at his skin.

“Please, more...”

Instants later, Remus's lips were on his own, Remus's tongue in his mouth, and with them the metallic taste of blood. Severus found that getting his clothes off as quickly as possible seemed to be far more important than that.

“We will leave eventually, won’t we?” he later asked Remus, lying underneath him in bed, still flushed and out of breath.

“Mhm. We will. But not now; it would be too dangerous. And think of Harry, what if he needs us here?”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“Sleep, Severus.” Remus kissed Severus’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you when the time has come. Trust me.”

Severus slept.

.-.-.

Draco was stumbling through the underwood, twigs and thorns tearing at his clothes and slapping him in the face. He didn't slow down though, but rather increased his speed. Three hours ago, he had passed the southern border of the part of England controlled by the Dark Lord, and half an hour ago, he had finally dared to move differently than creeping forward in a soundless but excruciatingly slow manner.

He had no words to describe his relief that he had managed to get through the ring of magic that enclosed the country on all sides. Without Severus’s wand and his detailed instructions, it would have been impossible. Even so, it was a miracle that he hadn’t been discovered. Had the older men come with him, as he had tried to persuade them, he was certain that they would have been caught.

Draco drew several deep breaths, trying to concentrate on getting forward, getting his thoughts away from Severus and Lupin. They had sent him away – on a scouting mission, as they had told him, to see if Potter was still alive. Severus’s informant had not given word in almost a year. But Draco wasn’t so sure that they ever expected him to come back. He was neither blind nor stupid, and they both knew it.

They had talked of leaving, yes. Later. When they were certain that Potter wouldn’t need them there any more. Or, in the unlikely case that he would still manage to slay the Dark Lord, after his victory. Draco didn’t believe that Potter was still alive, and, as he suspected, neither did they. More importantly, though, he was not convinced that they would leave if it turned out that the cause of the Light was lost.

Enabling him to flee had seemed to him like a last attempt at rebelling against something that had long overwhelmed them. Maybe it would make them feel better about it all, but if he was to be honest, it didn't matter to him any more. All that mattered was that he had escaped – from the Dark Lord as well as from them.

He'd felt uncomfortable in their presence during the last months, watching, listening. On the outside, their interaction was not different from before. Severus still made requests in a harsh voice; snapping at Lupin when he was irritated, as well as at Draco. Lupin still spoke softly, he said “please” and “thank you” in all the right places, and never seemed to do more than making mild suggestions. But if you looked closer, it was clear that Severus was the one asking for permission, while Lupin was giving the orders – pleasantly, gently, but orders nonetheless, and they both knew better than to contradict. He also hadn’t missed Lupin rubbing his left arm absently for several days some months ago, and now he would often leave with Severus during the day.

The worst thing were the nights of the full moon, though. Despite his own issues, Draco had noticed the changes in both of them. With Lupin, it was obvious, and while Severus was subtler, it was he who disturbed Draco much more. Lupin’s change was understandable, but Severus’s feelings turning from pretended nonchalance in the early months, over pain at seeing Lupin suffer, to now indifference mixed with a weary kind of admiration for the raging beast that Lupin turned into… It made Draco want to scream, or cry, or both. He wouldn’t ever say it out loud, would try to forbid himself even the thought, but it was as though he had lost his parents all over again. There was nothing left of the Severus who had taken him into his house – or just enough to send him away before it was entirely too late.

Draco shuddered and then fell, his ankle twisting with a terrible pain. He stumbled to his feet again, though, and continued as quickly as he had moved before.

When he reached the open fields an hour later, he even managed to run.


End file.
